#but sometimes i look at my dad and the way he mourns her because she was his mom. that was his mom.

[morningstar-chronicles]

sometimes i think i'm just like my father.

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 The night he died, my dad had a dream 🎶

Antoine got home just before midnight, a rare occurrence for him since moving to Strangerville. He had sat with Abe for hours after he took the guitar from him, using rolled tobacco and caffeine to try and ignore the humming that was coming from inside of it even as they talked. He had told himself that he had accepted it for Abe; but he wouldn’t play it. It belonged to another man, and whatever story was inside of it wasn’t his to tell. 

Still the moment he got into his own home, now grown dark and quiet as his family had long been asleep, he could still hear it humming. Constantly and consistently, it begged simply to be heard again. He collapsed onto the couch, unwilling to touch the strings but unable to part from it in any way. As he laid it across his lap, his hands hovered near the body so that he wouldn't accidentally draw a single sound from it; because if it did, he knew that it would sound like pain and shared memories that weighed on him at all times.

Unbeknownst to him, Zelda had walked silently down the stairs behind him. She was never able to sleep when he wasn’t there, no matter how exhausting the day might have been. So when she heard his boots in the kitchen she had put her book aside and gone to find him.

Now she stood in the archway as he looked down, seemingly lost in a sight she couldn’t see. She called his name quietly, so as not to startle him, but loud enough so that he turned around. Only even as he looked at her, his eyes were glassy as though trapped in a reverie, and the relief he might have felt seeing her never quite reached his face.

She walked nearer, albeit cautiously, uncertain what had happened or how the guitar she could now see in his lap had gotten there. As she approached, his posture grew more inviting, as though her nearness alone made her more real than whatever reverie was occupying his mind. He moved aside slightly, carefully shifting the guitar as he invited her onto the couch next to him.

Her calm silence seemed to have some effect on him, and he reached one finger out toward the neck of the guitar. Still he avoided the strings, running it up and down the wood grain on the side as he told her everything that Abe had explained to him, about his grandfather and his father, about Chicago and what had happened to the man who had once played the instrument.

As he finished she looked down at it as well, as though she could very clearly see the spirit that haunted Antoine’s mind and inhabited the hollow body of the guitar between them. She reached her hand out and looked toward Antoine before bringing it down, “May I?”

He shook his head yes, although he was unsure if even he had the authority to touch it either, and they both lapsed into silence. Her touch on the shining metal strings was so soft that it barely made a sound, much like her low hum when she sometimes still sang to herself in the fields. She moved her hand down onto the base of the guitar and it let out something that was almost like a soft sigh. Sadly, she laid her palm onto the wood and let it fall back into the quiet state it had been in a moment before.

Then she moved her hand back along the strings and he realized that she was humming in tune with them, singing in the soft but immensely sad way without barely making a sound like only she could. 

When she finally spoke it was low, and almost mournful. “What was done to him was horrible, and for that I am so sorry,” her voice paused as she reached the top of the handle, stopping there as though in memory before her hand trailed back down to the base, “But I know that’s not the only thing in here, because you don’t make music only out of pain, you make it out of love too. Out of all the joy and memory that flows alongside the pain. He played to feel it all, to move through it and past it and to make sure others could feel it too, so that even if you don’t speak it, you’re not alone.”

Then she took his hand carefully, holding it tenderly above the strings, “The same way I know you did.”

She turned his hand over in hers, running her thumb along the inside of his palm before flipping it back toward the guitar again. The echoing vibrations that had been coming from them seconds before ceased just as her hums did, as though they were both leaving a quiet space for Antoine to move into as she brought his hand down onto the weathered wood.

She left her own hand atop his for a moment, just so that he knew she would stay there for as long as he needed. When he made no move to pull away from the strings that he had been avoiding so diligently before, she slowly brought her hand to his face and her forehead to his.

They stayed that way for a moment, always able to better sense what the other was feeling without speaking. Antoine’s other hand met Zelda’s on his face, and with a small smile she noticed that the other remained on the guitar.

She moved to stand, understanding when he needed to be alone, and brought her lips to his forehead before looking into his eyes to be sure that he would be okay. Then she treaded out as silently as she had entered, pausing in the doorway as he slowly picked up the guitar from his lap. She stood there to look back at him for a moment, knowing that he was once again trapped in a reverie and wouldn’t notice her presence.

Just before she turned he brought his hands down onto the strings, moving them so that by the time she walked away soft sounds had already begun to follow her back up the stairs. By the time she reached the top they were coming quietly but quickly, and she paused once more to listen to them. It the first music he had played in almost four years.

Previous / Next

[honeycombclaire]

You know what I need? I need the Marvel time-travel trope, but everyone goes back to the 40s.

(I say everyone, I mean the Avengers pre-Infinity War.)

Because everyone says Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are men out of time (and they’re not technically wrong). But I want to see the Avengers (sans Steve and Bucky) getting sent back in time by some wizard or a freak Asgardian lightning storm or something, and poof, they’re back in the 40s, right smack in the middle of the war.

I want the Avengers to witness what life was like during the war, hiding in bomb shelters and seeing the after effects of the world crawling out of the Great Depression and hurtling into the second World War in twenty years.

Life when Steve really was the weirdest thing science ever created. When he was desperately needed and internationally adored. Because all of the Avengers have PTSD, but Steve and Bucky went through World War II and got spit back out into the 20th and 21st centuries, and that’s a whole different category of PTSD and trauma.

I want the Avengers to actually meet the survivors of Azzano, when Steve marched into the massive Nazi base and saved hundreds of soldiers, part because he could and part because he was desperate to save his best friend, and didn’t think twice about it.

I want the Avengers to see Steve and Bucky thrive. I want them to witness Steve and Bucky with the Howling Commandos. Steve’s first team. I want them to see how Steve and Bucky lived, what life was like, because it was drastically different than the modern world.

I want the Avengers to witness firsthand life on a military base. I want Tony to have to look his father in the eye and pretend he doesn’t know who he is, but get to see all the good his father did because all he remembers is his father being an asshole. How much Steve really did care about Howard (and that Bucky did, too, because Howard made weapons to keep Steve safe).

I want Natasha to see that just because she’s an assassin doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, because there were hundreds of military assassins and spies during the war that did bad things to get information.

I want them to hear about the Tesseract and learn that sometimes Steve’s intelligence should be taken seriously, because he has experience and knowledge that none of the other Avengers will ever have. (“You should have left it in the water.” “This is the guy my dad never shut up about?”)

I want them to see how much Steve loved Peggy, how she and Bucky were the only ones who saw him for who he really was, and realize how awful it must have been for him to come back and work for the organization she created after his death and have to live without her.

I want them to hide and watch as Past Steve screams as Past Bucky falls from the train. I want them to see Past Steve realize he can’t get drunk, and the only way he can cope is to kill the Red Skull and end HYDRA. To avenge his friend. I want them to realize that not only did Past Steve crash the plane for nothing, but that Steve knows, has to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

I want them to listen with Peggy as Past Steve realizes he’s going to have to crash the plane. I want them to hear the slight tremble in Past Steve’s voice as he talks about dancing with Peggy, believing he’ll never get the chance, and that he’s going to die alone in the freezing cold ocean. I want them to not get the change to promise him that he’ll survive. I want them to hear the sudden static that cuts off Past Steve’s voice, and the heavy silence that comes after it.

I want them to see the world mourn for Captain America, who died just months before the war ended.

And then I want them to come back to the 21st century and see. I want them to see the way Steve’s eyes linger on pictures of Peggy and Howard, see the rows of records from the 30s and 40s in a whole new light, see rows of 30s-style clothes in his closet that he hardly ever wears because a lot of people will make jabs about it, see the way he always keeps Bucky in his sight, hugs him just a little bit tighter than he hugs everyone else.

I want them to see the bags under his and Bucky’s eyes when they have nightmares. I want Sam to quietly show them Steve’s list, and see that every line on every page is filled because he missed so much. I want them to find two more little books filled up just as much. I want them to realize how lost Steve still is despite how much he’s adapted.

I want them to see the subtle military training still ingrained in Steve’s bones, because any and every war was horrible, but World War II was something else entirely, and so was desperation that existed within the soldiers and the people. I want them to see Steve’s recklessness of jumping out of planes without a parachute, the way his eyes always scan the area when he enters a room, watching ever little detail and listening for any sound that might indicate danger. How he is always, always, on alert, even when he seems relaxed.

I want them to understand why Steve was so against the Sokovia Accords. It wasn’t because he wanted the power to do what he thought was best; it was because he was afraid of the consequences of having too many restrictions. Because even with international laws and the damn Geneva Convention, the Nazis still destroyed half the world, and decades later Nazi HYDRA was still carrying out their mission that Steve sacrificed his life for. Steve was a human experiment. The Serum was a biochemical weapon. The military broke the rules to protect the greater good, and Steve knew that. The war would have gone very differently without him.

Whether he was right or wrong about the Accords, after what Steve experienced, I want the Avengers finally understand where he was coming from. Why he was so afraid of strict regulations.

I want Tony to finally fully understand the significance of Steve giving up his shield in Siberia.

Why he was so determined to protect Bucky from the world. Not just because he was his best friend, or because it was the right thing to do. But also because Bucky was the only thing Steve physically had left of his life before the crash, save for his dog tags, and he was scared of what that would mean if Steve lost him.

Steve Rogers has so much trauma that Marvel completely ignored. They focused on Tony’s and Bucky’s and Natasha’s trauma; and that’s great, that’s important; but so much of Steve’s moral character doesn’t get explained because it gets glossed over with the excuse that he’s “Mr Good and Righteous.” And that’s true, but that’s just scratching the surface.

He’s Mr. Good and Righteous for a reason, and it doesn’t get talked about enough.

[henreyettah]

AUgust week 3: childhood friends, part 2!

(Lil fic under the cut)

PENNY

My name is Penelope Bunce, and I have three friends. Simon’s a whole one, because he was my first friend, and so is Agatha even though she likes to pretend we aren’t whole friends.

Shepard is half my friend and half Premal’s, because they’re in the same grade. He’s a Normal, so Mum doesn’t want us to be around him much, but today we are anyways because he lives next door to the house the Coven is meeting at.

Basil is also my half friend, but that’s because he’s really bad at paying attention to me when I ask him very nicely to do so. Mostly when Simon’s around. Sometimes he’s really bad at paying attention because he gets sad about his Mum. I think he’d be less sad if he wore different colors, but his Dad won’t let him because they’re in mourning.

The bug I’ve found worms it’s way across my palms, and Basil turns his head after Simon instead of looking at it like he should. I want to show it to Agatha, but she would be mad if I dropped it on her. Shepard’s already learned to write, so he’s too old for bugs. And Simon’s busy running around. My fingers curl carefully around the bug to keep it from leaving. I don’t like the other kids here, the ones that aren’t my three friends.

[utopia-and-broken-cynics]

So. Since you've properly read Pinocchio now. What are your thoughts on how the book was adapted into Cedar and her dad in EAH

I need everyone to look me dead in my eyes, okay? I love Ever After High. I love Pinocchio. 

No matter what I say later, you have to remember I love Ever After High, okay? Got that? Good. 

That being said, Pinocchio and Cedar in EAH don’t really seem to be based on the book, as much as the Disney movie (I know, I know, booo and all that), in the way that most modern adaptations of Pinocchio are based on the Disney movie. Cultural phenomena and all that.

I would like to break down some points of Pinocchio, link them back to Ever After High, and then explain what this means to me later. Okay? Let’s go!

[Please note that I make points in the order they came to me and NOT in the order of how they reference each other. This isn’t a professional essay, and nobody is allowed to grade me. Also, this is purely from memory, so if I’m wrong, I’m wrong.]

What it means to be good (obedience, honesty, school/hard work)

The story of Pinocchio deals a lot with what it means to be good, a concept that does mostly carry over. Usually, good means honest, right?

Being good in the book means a lot of things. Pinocchio is often scolded and punished for being lazy, for being disobedient, and, yes, for being dishonest. He’s a complainer, he’s greedy, he wants to get rich fast without doing any of the work, and he loathes the idea of going to school. Classic little kid things, really.

School is the biggest one. As soon as Pinocchio is up and moving (and, y’know, after Geppetto gets out of prison— long story—), he is told he has to go to school. And he immediately, and I do mean immediately, skips. He sells his school book to go to a puppet show.

Later in the book, the reason the Blue Fairy plans to make Pinocchio human is because he did well and was diligent in school for a good part of the year.

Hard work is also a big one. After Pinocchio and Romeo get turned into donkeys, Pinocchio is sold to the circus, and is forced to do tricks and stuff to earn his food.

In the very end, to show he is good, and ultimately deserving of being real, he does hard work to earn money for his ailing father, and the Blue Fairy once he becomes aware of her being in a poor state. He grows from being an undeniably bad child, to being a good one.

Pinocchio lies to get out of trouble, more often than not. He lies to the Blue Fairy about being sick, about what happened with the Fox and Cat to get him hung from a tree, and about skipping school. 

And eventually, he just. Stops. He must have figured it was more harm than it was worth.

Blue Fairy

The Blue Fairy is a pretty big part of the book, something not reflected in EAH.

She starts off in a little sister role, getting Pinocchio brought down from where he’s been hung from a tree. Then he gets out of jail (long story) and finds out she is dead.

Then she comes back, transitioning into a mother role as Geppetto has had an… unfortunate accident at sea. The Blue Fairy is a fairly forgiving figure in Pinocchio’s life, giving him numerous opportunities to prove he is good, and that he is worthy of being human.

The Blue Fairy is so so so patient with Pinocchio, and sometimes he doesn’t deserve it. And I love her for it.

All that being said, Farrah should have been way more important and involved in Cedar’s life, ESPECIALLY since Cedar has already lost a Blue Fairy.

 Do you think I forgot?! Hell no! Did y’all forget that Cedar’s Blue Fairy went poof?

Considering how important the Blue Fairy is to Pinocchio (how they live together for a good while before the Donkey-ing, how quickly he mourns her), there is no doubt in my mind that Cedar’s Blue Fairy was very important to her.

We don’t know how she felt about the poofing, and we don’t know how their interactions went pre-poofing.

But this is about Farrah.

If Farrah is truly gonna take on the Blue Fairy role, they would have to do more than just say it. Let them hang out in the background, let them talk a couple of times.

I just think they should have been more of a Thing, y’know? The Blue Fairy is too important to the story for Farrah taking over to not be a Certified Big Deal.

Danger

According to my partner @the-lavender-creator and my good buddy @rarepairqueenmochi, the fox and the cat that appear in Darling’s horse’s tragic backstory would hang a child if it made them money. I would like to believe that it’s a point towards the fox and cat being very similar to their book counterparts.

Which means that maybe all the other super dangerous stuff that happens in Pinocchio could also happen in the Ever After High Universe. For example, Pinocchio almost gets battered and pan-fried at some point, could that happen in EAH?

What about the hanging? What about when the Black cat tries to stab Pinocchio? When he spends a little time drowning as a donkey?

I don’t know, and you don’t either. Moving on.

Pinocchio as a Character

Pinocchio starts off the story as a sort of gullible miscreant. He gets warned by numerous characters that “if you do this, things will go wrong” and he does it in spite of them. For goodness sake, he kills the Talking Cricket with a hammer because the cricket calls him an idiot for thinking he can lounge around and have fun all day. (The cricket kinda deserved it, tbf. Don’t call him an idiot. That’s a kid.)

Pinocchio is also (sort of) a sweet boy. He wants to do the right thing, but he also wants to do the easy thing, the fun thing. 

Why go straight home to his father with five gold coins and go to school the next day like a good boy, when he can go with these two people he just met and make way more money really easily?

Why go home to the Blue Fairy when Romeo’s promising him endless fun?

What you have to remember is that during the story, Pinocchio is (to my knowledge) between the ages of 6 to 10, and it shows.

We don’t know a lot about Pinocchio in EAH, unfortunately. We know he was friends with King Charming and Goldilocks in high school, and that he’s notably a wooden boy still.

I don’t think teenagers can really go through the plot of Pinocchio (not saying that teenagers can’t make the decisions he does, just that they are older, more informed, and likely more cautious. It takes more effort to get a teenager to bury money in the hope that it’ll grow a tree, for example.), but that’s just me.

Cedar as Pinocchio

Cedar is not a gullible miscreant. Cedar loves her father too much to sentence him to two years in a stomach.

Cedar Wood wants more than ever to be human, and able to lie. I love her so much; she would never recover from going through book Pinocchio’s shenanigans. If we assume that the Legacy system will go through the same beats and lessons, despite prior personality and values, then she’s, quite frankly, fucked.

Cedar doesn’t need to learn the lessons book Pinocchio, or even Disney Pinocchio needed to learn, about honesty, hard work, and accountability.

Maybe she can learn about the divide between wisdom and age, which would lend itself well to the whole Rebel cause that Cedar aligns herself with. Being that she’s willing to call out Milton Grimm for lying, though, she probably doesn’t need to learn that one either.

—

Okay, now that I’ve gotten all of that out of my system, let’s talk about what that all means.

Nothing, really.

Ever After High, for better or worse, doesn’t dig into the fairytale theme as much as it could. This means that we never get a full picture of the exact version of the story most characters are being prodded towards. They mention that the stories have changed over time, but how.

Cedar and the story of Pinocchio are no exceptions. Many of the details can be inferred, but many are just hopeful guesses on my part. 

However, while trying to tell a story about Legacy, they could have utilized elements of the story to add a little specificity to the nuances of Cedar advocating for choice.

It would make sense, given how the story of Pinocchio goes, that she wouldn’t want to go through with it, but she has to to get to the ending. The happy ending probably cancels out all the stuff she has to go through in everyone’s eyes, but it doesn’t to me.

Cedar will make choices that go directly against her personality, against her and her father’s wellbeings, and she will have to be okay with that when she becomes human. How does that make her feel as she heads towards her story? How does that make her feel as her friends choose not to follow their destinies? Does she decide to change how the story goes?

TLDR; it was adapted fine. I personally wish we had more Pinocchio themes and aspects referenced and mentioned by Cedar and her father, but considering how little Cedar is the main focus/a major character, I probably shouldn’t be picky. I’m just happy she was on screen/on the page.

[lovemedarkly29]

First of all, let me say that I am loving Where I Left You. But any plans to finish that delightful Liam/Violet fic? I love that one so much!

Oh thank you! I decided to leave that one as a one(ish) shot after all — I liked it better as something smutty and light. But, since you asked, I do have a little deleted scene of Conscription Day from Liam’s POV in that AU that I really loved that never made it out of the Google doc. For you, anon!

—

“Go ahead, I’ll wait here,” Violet says. 

I drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a step out onto the parapet for the first time since Conscription Day almost a year ago. The wind whips around me, but I am feeling surprisingly calm and centered as I fix my gaze on the dark shadow of my foster brother in front of me. 

I’m reminded of him sitting on the rooftop at Tirvainne — mourning his father in silence just as he’s probably doing now. Only now his figure is darker, more like a shadow than a person. He’s harder now, almost as if he’s carved from the same stone that form the turrets of Basgiath currently framing his figure through the fog.

His head snaps in my direction. He realizes it’s me and his shoulders soften just slightly. 

“Turn around, Liam,” he commands in a low voice.

“I will, once I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he sighs. “Or I’ll be fine. And I’ve got my shadows to keep me safe up here — what’s your plan for not dying?”

He knows I wasn’t asking if he’s okay because of the height of the parapet, but I play along.

“My cat-like reflexes. My gracefulness and poise under pressure.”

He snorts. I reach arms length to him and bend a knee to lower myself down and sit next at his side. I grip the stone surface at both sides of my thighs, staring out at the night sky in the same direction that he’s looking in. It’s dark beyond the dim lights on the towers of Basgiath — so dark that I can barely see the outline of the mountains that I know are all around us. 

“You ever think about brooding somewhere that doesn’t involve a higher than average risk of death?” I ask him. 

“Not really,” Xaden says. “I think I need the adrenaline sometimes.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “A reminder that I do want to survive all this.”

“That’s dark, man.”

Xaden lets out a sad chuckle. “It’s a dark day, brother.”

I purse my lips thinking about how true that really is. This day was never going to be easy for any of us Marked Ones, but knowing that everyone else around us here is not only commemorating but celebrating makes it all the more unbearable.  

“Three years ago — on that rooftop in Tirvainne, I promised I’d be there for any fight you led me into, and I meant it.”

“You’ve always had too much faith in me.”

“I disagree,” I say. “I have the exact amount I should have.” 

He’s silent, looking up at the sky for a moment and then back at me. 

“Do you think they would have expected us to continue the rebellion once they were gone?”

I take a deep breath, thinking about my Mom’s words to me shortly before she died. ‘Doing the right thing is as much for yourself as it is for the people you are trying to help.’

I often thought about it — wondering how leaving her children as orphans, forced to be separated for years, factored into that equation of integrity. 

“I think they taught us all to think and act with a certain moral compass,” I say. “They had to know there was no way we’d all choose safety over doing what’s right.”

Xaden nods, looking down at his hands. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sure I’m doing everything my dad would have expected of me.”

He sounds bitter, and it breaks my heart to hear the skepticism in his voice. That he has any doubts about the path he’s chosen — that all the pain and suffering he’s taken on just so that we could have a chance to survive had meant nothing.

“Xaden,” I say. “Your dad would be proud as fuck of what you’ve done, you have to know that. You alone gave us a chance to live. To fall in love. Maybe have families — grow old. None of them would have a trace of a legacy without you protecting all of us. And doing all that while continuing their cause—”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Still makes me wonder sometimes what they were thinking — whether they thought about what we’d do before they took on their fight.”

“It wasn’t a choice for them,” I say, “Just like it’s not a choice for us to do the right thing.”

“Yeah,” he says, pausing for a few moments. “I appreciate the reminder.”

“I meant what I said on that rooftop.”

“I know,” Xaden says. He sighs before turning and smirking at me. “Now get the fuck out of here before Sorrengail risks her life to come yell at me for keeping you from her.”

“That does sound like something she’d do,” I say, shaking my head with a laugh. 

“Fucking Violet,” he says, biting back a smile. “She’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

“Not if I can help it,” I say with a smirk. “Come inside?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he says. “Give me a few more minutes out here and I’ll call it a night.”

I know that I can’t ask for a better answer than that from Xaden. “Will you let Vi know when you’re in for the night?”

“For fuck’s sake, Liam. I’m a big boy. You protecting me now too?”

“Wasn’t that the whole reason I became her shadow in the first place?”

Xaden grumbles something incomprehensible before sighing. “Alright, I’ll tell her.”

“Night, Xaden.”

“Goodnight.”

I slowly make my way back to the door, barely on solid ground when Violet pulls me down into a crushing hug. I laugh, marveling at how someone so small can be so strong when she wants to be.

“How’s he doing?” She asks, releasing me into a looser embrace.

“As you’d expect,” I say. “He said he needs a few minutes but that he’d let you know when he’s heading to bed.”

Bodhi and Garrick are gone — no doubt assuming that Violet and I have things covered with Xaden. 

“Right, then we’ll hold him to that,” she says. She looks up at me, running a hand over my chest. “In the meantime, I think you should take me to bed, Liam Mairi. I want to make you forget what day it is.”

I wrap my arms around her thighs and pick her up for a kiss. She’s soft in my arms and smells incredible — and I feel the heaviness of the day lighten ever so slightly with every second that I have her lips on mine. 

“Best idea you’ve had all night,” I say to her as I set her down again. 

My once-empty heart feels fuller than it should be permitted to feel on a night like this. 

It’s the kind of wholeness you think is gone forever after a deep loss — after your world is turned upside down. The kind of wholeness you’re certain you’ll never feel again, because you’re broken now. Missing a piece. 

But then, one day, you meet someone wonderful. Someone who reminds you that ‘different now’ can still mean you’re ‘whole’ — and then suddenly, you feel like you are.

[icedragonlizard]

As much as I love Susie and even though I've previously talked about the insane discourse she's had... I'm also acutely aware that there are people who sanitize her too much.

I'll also make it clear that I wouldn't have ever wished for Susie to have received the Taranza treatment by the fandom.

Good god, imagine that. Imagine if all the people that heavily infantilized Taranza were doing the same thing to Susie. Like if they were to completely defang her, delete all of her flaws, make her this totally nice person, and flanderize her by having her only character trait be mourning her father.

I would've considered that to be cringe as hell. I would've not been a fan of that. I've cringed at how many people demonize Susie, but I'd also have cringed if she had been treated the opposite way at large. I don't at all want to imagine her being either completely bad or completely good.

Same goes for Taranza. I've hardcore cringed at how overly woobified he's been by the fandom. Like I said, I wouldn't have wanted Susie to be treated the same way he's been treated.

I'll admit that I have woobified Susie before. I won't deny it. It would be easy to call me a Susie apologist. I've talked about her in a sympathetic light, and a few months ago I even wrote a fic about her having a nightmare about her dad becoming a monster and that two other people were comforting her afterwards.

BUT, as far as that particular fic was concerned, I just wanted to write something about her and the two best friends that she has in my headcanons. It just resulted in that story having a context that elicited wholesomeness which I would hope should be fine. I would think it'd be plausible for a very flawed character to have wholesome moments on occasion, at least.

And despite the tragic Susie posts I've written, I absolutely don't excuse or justify her actions, and I don't pretend that she did nothing wrong. She's, uh, literally a war criminal. I also interpret her still being very flawed even after Robobot. Like, I redeem and forgive her, but quite frankly she's still pretty fucked up in terms of morals.

To me, she still has a fairly smug and corporate personality. She'll still sometimes resort to morally questionable businessperson decisions. She'd throw money and science onto things even when it's not necessary. She has the capacity to be nice, especially to the people she's closest to, but she's still rather cold to most people. Her emotional maturity is also definitely messed up because of how she spent most of her childhood in a hell dimension.

And I headcanon her still being a mad scientist at heart, albeit she's shifted her mad scientist desires onto toys and other inanimate objects.

If you remember, over a year ago I wrote an entire post interpreting that Furbies exist in my Kirby universe as an invention of the Haltmann Works Company, and Susie loves making those things.

Even though I've done some headcanon changes after that post, the Susie making Furbies thing is absolutely still true in my verse. I haven't changed that. It still very much exists for me.

One can technically consider Susie making Furbies to be adorable, but it's also pretty unhinged because I imagine her making some excessively detailed and freaky-looking furbies that'd make some of the other Kirby characters go "WHAT THE FUCK???"

In general, she'd be unhinged when it comes to modifying toys and other inanimate objects. Kind of like Sid from Toy Story.

The conversation down below would absolutely happen in my verse.

Speaking of Meta Knight, I've said it before but I don't headcanon him and Susie being friends. I'm easier on Susie than many other people are, but even I don't imagine Meta Knight truly forgiving her. I'm not as vehement about it as some others, as I don't imagine him literally wanting her dead, but he has a hard time brushing off what she did to him.

Susie is a complex character for me. Truthfully, I'd say that she's still not a good person, but she's not devoid of good traits. She's still a corporate bitch, but she's also silly, cutesy, and has some friends. I've leaned into her cute side a few times before and I do believe there'd be some wholesomeness in the friendship between her and Kirby.

In general, I wish that both Susie and Taranza were looked at with more nuance and complexity than what a lot of the Kirby fandom has given to them. They can both be sympathized with, but they're also war criminals. Both of them are. Neither of them should have their actions be excused, regardless of the tragic stuff surrounding them.

It's okay to make them both suck... even Taranza, yeah honestly he sucks more than some people would like to admit. But I also wouldn't go around treating either him or Susie like they're irredeemable or totally unforgivable.

To be clear, I don't have them be completely 1:1 on everything. Taranza's wrongdoings were overall less severe by virtue of being on a smaller scale, and I do headcanon him being the overall better person of the two, but it's by a much smaller margin than how a lot of people would interpret them, as I don't roll with the "Taranza is completely good, Susie is completely bad".

Both of them still count as morally grey for me.

I stand by this. I'll respectfully let people headcanon what they want, but I do wish that the fandom would treat both Taranza and Susie with more nuance instead of going too far in one direction for either of them. They're more interesting with nuance and complexity.

[starheirxero]

IF I DON'T TALK ABOUT JULY 16TH, I'M GOING TO COMBUST-

SUN LOVED THESE CHILDREN SO MUCH- HE LOVED THEM NOT UNLIKE ONE LOVES THEIR OWN- HE PARTIALLY RAISED THEM, GODDAMNIT-

HE LOVED THEM, AND HE LOST THEM, AND HE COULDN'T DO ANYTHING-

FOR THE LONGEST TIME, HE THOUGHT THEIR BLOOD COATED HIS HANDS- FOR THE LONGEST TIME, HE THOUGHT HE KILLED THE ONES HE WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT-

HE DIDN'T, AND HE KNOWS THAT NOW, BUT IT WON'T BRING THEM BACK- IT WON'T CHANGE THE FACT, THAT THEY THOUGHT IT WAS HIM-

IT WON'T CHANGE THE FACT, THAT HE COULDN'T PROTECT THEM, LIKE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO-

I AM GOING TO START EATING THE FLOOR--

HE REMEMBERS THEM, EACH AND EVERY ONE-

JACKIE, JAMIE, JAMES, KIT, HUEY, HOWIE, EVELYN-

HE REMEMBERS THEIR INTERESTS AND QUIRKS- HE REMEMBERS THE LITTLE DETAILS, EVEN, AS IT'S ALL FADING-

HE KEEPS SAYING THESE NAMES LIKE A MANTRA, TO REMIND HIMSELF, NEVER TO FORGET THEM, EVEN AS MEMORIES ARE SLIPPING BY-

HE SOUNDS SO MOURNFUL-

FUCK, IM GOING TO BE SICK/POS-

The thing that really gets me is that they really sound like children- I don't know exactly how to describe it, but they sound like kids I would've known when I was little- Hell, some of them do sound like kids I knew, some of which I was even friends with!

THIS PUTS SO MUCH WEIGHT ON BLOODMOON'S ACTIONS, JESUS CHRIST-

THEY WERE CHILDREN- CHILDREN WITH FAMILIES THAT LOVED THEM, THAT MOURNED THEM-

EVELYN'S FATHER WAS MENTIONED- HE WAS A FARMER, AND SHE LOVED WEARING OVERALLS BECAUSE OF IT-

SHE WAS NEVER ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS, SHE WAS OBSESSED WITH THEM INSTEAD-

MY HEART-

The one thing about Fnaf lore, that always kind of bothered me, was that the missing kids felt more like plot devices- There isn't much about them, outside of Susie, though only if you read the books- Which is fine, if they aren't meant to be the focus!

However, by making them characters, I feel like it puts so much more weight onto William's actions. It turns him into a larger threat, a monster.

Which is exactly what is happening here!

By giving them names, personalities, it feels like there is so much more weight on Bloodmoon's actions, y'know?

He robbed them of growing up. He forced their parents to bury them.

God, their parents must despise Sun! If Dazzle ever remembers, I could honestly see her dad becoming a character!

The moment, he'd see the twins, it'll be on sight!

Though, it generally makes me curious! I wonder, if Dazzle is really the only ghost kid left behind.

I wonder, if there are going to be more. There were little hints of the possibility dropped!

Some of them might not be as forgiving, which would be really interesting to see!

-Stardust

YELLS AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!!!!!! LITERALLY EVERYTHING YOU SAID HERE AAUAGGHHHH

Sun has quietly carried so much love and care and guilt over these kids for years of his life, a grief that bubbled under the surface, and we never truly saw how much that weighed on him until now as he has to stomach that one of them has come back and they forgive him :(((

AND YEA THEY'RE LIKE. THEY'RE SO BELIEVABLY KIDS THAT IT MAKES MY CHEST HURT. The way Sun talked about their habits and interests didn't feel strange in any way, like how sometimes people write kids and its like. have u ever interacted with a child in ur life HDKWHD it was just. they felt really truly alive.....

AND IT ABSOLUTELY DOES ADD MORE WEIGHT TO WHAT BLOODMOON DID YEAH. AND UR POINT ABOUT CANON FNAF YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!!!!!!!! Oms I was thinking something similar the other day and I'm SO GLAD YOU WERE ABLE TO PUT MY THOUGHTS INTO WORDS AHDKSNKD

Like. I mentioned that harm or death of children is the quickest way to make me sniffle and wail and wail, but fnaf never really managed to make me truly sad and weepy about the kids because, like you said, they were more plot devices rather than full characters.

BUT YESYES ALSO LIKE U SAID, by fleshing out their lives and making them more solid characters, it adds so much more weight to the actions of the murderer!! Bloodmoon looked at these little humans who flocked to him because they loved Sun and he saw food, he saw easy targets, and he took advantage of that to the highest degree!!! And it's like holy shit!!!!! Whadda hell!!!!!!!! Like u said, he robbed them of growing up, he had just as little regard for their new lives as he did the rats in the theater and it's like. AUGH.

BUT ALSO YEAG OUHG if Dazzle's dad or another dead kid became characters I'd lose it /pos

It would just be a very bittersweet feeling, especially if it was Dazzle's dad, and I think I'd never emotionally recover. Tsams if you hear me HAKAHSKS

[thinkinonsense]

Eat or Be Eaten ✦ Steve Harrington x fem!oc: Search Party

╰┈➤ Summary: In the dark corners of Hawkins, Indiana holds the gate to an alternate upside-down dimension. When a little boy goes missing in the town, Johanna Hopper and her friends gather to help find him before it's too late. Along the way, Johanna finds herself getting intertwined with the likings of a strange little girl and someone she claims to hate.

╰┈➤c/w: violence, cursing, angst, mentions of death

╰┈➤ word count: 3.3k+

╰┈➤ last chapter here

✦ "You can't go with me, Johanna," Dad argued for the third time this morning.

"Why not?"

We haven't seen each other since the news broke and I wish I could say I didn't know how he must be feeling, but I do.

"Jo..."

"He was there for me. Let me be there for him."

Dad gave up after I said that. I drove him down to the morgue where he met with Joyce and Jonathan.

"You stay in the waiting room, got it?" Dad stated again before letting me out of the car.

I nodded my head.

Deja Vú has a funny way of showing itself sometimes because suddenly I was eleven again and here for my sister.

"Jo? What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked, sort of surprised.

"I came to be here with you and your mom," I said, pulling him into a tight hug.

"You didn't have-" He mumbled into my hair.

"I wanted to."

When we let go, he sat next to me. Dad was on the phone with one of the other officers and Joyce was still looking at Will's body.

"She thinks he's in the walls." He whispers, making me turn my head at him.

"What?"

"Yeah, she... she says she can hear him."

"She can hear Will?" I ask then shake my head at how silly it sounds. "That's not possible."

"That's what I thought too."

Dad told me about the phone calls but I assumed the same thing, kids in his grade just thought it was funny to prank call them. I didn't know Joyce was actually losing it.

"There is so much we still need to do." He sighed, leaning forward on his knees.

"If you need anything just let me know," I said, rubbing his back in circles.

"How did you do it?"

It was five years ago when she passed. I don't remember much leading up to it. She was sick but I guess my mind blocked out the other stuff. Once she was gone, my mom left too. She divorced my dad and remarried a man named Bill. They ended up having another kid that I'll never meet.

For the longest time, I hated both of my parents. You wouldn't think an eleven-year-old could hold so much anger. It wasn't until Mom left that I started to like my dad again. He used to be a lazy drunk who wouldn't move for days at a time. I can't say I fully blame him after he lost his other daughter but it felt like he didn't care that I was mourning too.

"Honestly? I don't know..." I sighed. "But I got through it so, I know you can too."

Suddenly, Joyce came running out the door.

"Ma'am! Ma'am! I need you to sign this!" One of the morticians yelled.

"I don't know what you think that thing is in there, but that is not my son!" She yelled back.

"Joyce!" Dad called as she walked out the door.

"Mom! Mom!" Jonathan said, running after her.

I looked at my dad for some answers but he just sighed and sat back down.

"What was that about?" I asked him.

"She's going through a lot right now, kid." He said, being as vague as possible.

Minutes later, Jonathan comes storming back inside for his coat and keys. I followed him out to his car and hopped in with him.

✮

This isn't my ideal afternoon, looking for coffins but Jonathan shouldn't have to do this alone. He should not have to do this at all.

For the most part, I zoned out while the funeral director talked to Jonathan, only adding small comments when he looked at me for an opinion. The front door opened and stood the last person I thought I would see today, Nance.

"Jonathan, Jo, can we talk for just a second?" She asked. 

Jonathan and I exchanged a short glance then followed her to the hallway.

They sat in the chairs while I leaned against the wall. Nancy pulled out a taped-up picture from the other night at Steve's house, letting us look at the figure she was talking about.

"It could be some sort of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using the wide angle. I don't know." He says, handing it back to her.

"It's weird though," I said, getting another look.

"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else out there?" She asked him.

"No." He answered. "She was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted."

"Barb wouldn't do that," I mumbled.

"That's what I think but the cops, on the other hand, think she ran away." Nancy sighed. "And I went back to Steve's and I thought I... I thought I saw something. Some weird man or... I don't know what it was."

Why would the cops just brush this off after nearly the same thing happened with Will and now he's dead?

"I'm sorry," Nancy said breaking the silence between us. "I shouldn't have come here today. I just... I just thought maybe you knew something or... Hopper might know.."

"What did he look like?" Jonathan asks her.

"What?" Nancy and I both said.

"This man you saw in the woods. What did he look like?"

"I don't know." She stutters, thinking back. "It was almost like he..."

"Didn't have a face?"

"How did you know that?"

Jonathan told the two of us to get into his car and he would explain. Apparently, Joyce has been seeing this figure in their living room, which explains why the Christmas lights are hung up in early November.

Once we reached the school, the three of us went to the dark room while Jonathan started developing the other photos.

"Did your mom say anything else?" Nancy asked him. "Like, um, where it might have gone to? Or..."

"No, just that it came out of the wall." He mumbled, trying to focus.

"Why didn't you guys tell anyone?" I asked.

"Your dad and I didn't believe her. It sounded too crazy to be real but now... who knows." He answered.

How could my dad not tell me this? Some creature could be running around in Hawkins and he didn't believe her?

I sat on one of the chairs while they watched the photo being developed. Their voices were quiet while she asked him about photography and inched closer.

"That's it," Nancy said, pointing to the picture.

I shot up and walked over to look. There was definitely a creepy faceless creature in the photo.

"That's what I saw." She restates.

"Holy shit," I said in shock.

"My mom... I thought she was crazy. 'Cause she said that's not Will's body. That he's alive."Jonathan's voice cared the same amount of surprise as ours.

"And if he's alive..."

"Then Barb." Nancy cut me off.

Later that night, Jonathan dropped off Nancy and then me. Dad never came home. I locked the door and grabbed the gun under my bed, laying it next to my nightstand just in case. I barely slept that night.

✮

The front door opened and I peeked through the curtains and saw Dad's car in the driveway.

"You're up this early?" He asked.

"Yeah, Will's funeral is at nine," I responded, pulling out my funeral dress. "Are you coming?"

"I don't think so, kiddo. There is some stuff down at the station that I need to take care of."

"Of course you do."

I shut the bathroom door before he could say anything else.

There's no real reason that I should be upset with him. He can't tell me any information about an open case but I don't know, I assumed since the Byers and I are close he would tell me what was going on.

After I showered, I dried my curly hair and got dressed. This was the same dress I wore to my sister's funeral years ago, shoved in the back of my closet where I wouldn't see it unless I specifically looked for it. Nothing about it was special.

Before going to the kitchen, I put a cardigan over it and grabbed my boots. There were Pop-Tarts on top of the fridge. I stood on top of one of the wooden chairs to reach it instead of asking for help.

"C'mon kid, is this necessary?" He asked, watching me climb down.

I ignored his question, mumbling a quick goodbye then heading out to my freezing car. While I waited to see if the heat would turn on, I looked at myself in the mirror.

There wasn't much makeup on my face. I curled my lashes but didn't bother with mascara, just a bit of foundation and a dark red lipstick that I used as a blush. The mascara would have been a waste anyway because I can barely keep it together now.

The heat kicked on while I was driving over to the gravesite. My car knew I needed some sort of win today. It was busy when I got there. I parked two spots from Jonathan's car, next to the Wheelers.

"Hey." Nancy greeted, walking towards me.

"Hey." I sniffled.

"Has your dad heard anything about...?"

"I'm not sure. I doubt he even knows about Barb, he's been so busy with Will's case."

She nodded. I watched her little brother, Mike join his other friends over by Jonathan and Joyce. The second I saw the casket, I froze.

"You okay?" Nancy asked, reaching for my hand.

"Yeah, it just hit me all of a sudden," I said, letting my guard down for a minute.

"I know you are close with them so, I can't imagine."

I nodded and she pulled me into a hug.

✮

We stayed next to each other while the service started, passing tissues from inside my coat to each other. When the priest finished and everyone split up, I noticed a shadow lingering behind me. Three shadows specifically.

"Can I help you boys?" I asked, Will's friends. The only one I could recognize was Mike.

"Yeah, um, I'm Dustin." The curly-haired kid smiled at me.

"Nice to meet you, Dustin."

"Nice to meet you too, this is Lucas and Mike."

He pointed to the other boys. They both waved awkwardly. It was sweet.

"You're Johanna Hopper, right?"

"Correct." I nod, grabbing a cup from the refreshments table and filling it with the black coffee in a pot. "Let me guess, you want to know about my dad?"

"Well, sort of. We want to know what he knows."

The kid comes off a little strong but I'll give him credit.

"Join the club," I mumbled into my cup of coffee; taking a sip. "Look, I wish I could help you guys out, but he hasn't told me anything."

"Hm..." The young boy thought to himself for a moment. "Well, if you find anything out, could you let us know please?"

"You'll be the first person I call."

I spotted Jonathan and Nancy sitting outside still; leaving the three boys inside. They stared at a map when I squatted, causing them both to jump.

"What are we looking at?" I ask.

"Where were you?" Nancy asked me.

"I got some coffee then your brother's friends tried to interrogate me for information." I pointed back to the map. "What's this?"

"Mapping out where this thing has been seen," Jonathan says. "There's the woods where Will disappeared, Steve's house, and my house."

"That's really close." I squinted.

"Yeah, it's gotta be within a mile or something." He said. "Whatever this thing is, it's not traveling far."

"You want to go out there," Nancy states, looking at Jonathan.

"We might not find anything."

"I found something. And if we do see it... then what?"

"Easy, We kill it," I answered, standing back up.

"She's right." Jonathan agreed, walking out to Lonnie's car.

Inside the glove box was a revolver and a small box of bullets. I watched as Nancy began to realize that we were serious.

"Are you guys serious?" She asked, looking around suspiciously.

Jonathan stuffed his pockets and then annoyingly stated, "What? Do you want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?"

"And you're okay with this?" She turns to me, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not thrilled by the idea but it's our only option." I shrugged.

"Guys, this is a terrible idea!"

"You can go tell someone but they won't believe you. Look at Joyce, half of the town is calling, her a madwoman when she could be right about this."

"Doesn't she deserve to know?"

"Yeah, and I'll tell her... after that thing is dead," Jonathan said, shutting the car door.

The three of us made plans to meet back up in two hours. I told Nancy I would pick her up and meet Jonathan in the woods.

"Dad?" I yelled when I walked through the front door.

His car was missing but the television and the lights were still on. The living room was torn to pieces.

What did he do in here while I was gone?

"I'm so not cleaning this shit up," I said under my breath.

In my room, I changed out of my dress, putting it back in the depths of my closet, and threw on a brown top with some blue jeans. I hurried to take my gun out to my car, along with a box of bullets from Dad's room.

The drive to Nancy's wasn't that long, fifteen minutes. I drove down her street and noticed a familiar vehicle in her driveway.

"Johanna?"

Steve's voice traveled through my windows. He and Nancy across from each other with a bat in between them.

"You two are hanging out today?" He questions Nance.

"Yeah." She quickly answers.

"What are you guys going to do?"

"Uh,"

"Um..."

Nancy and I struggled to think of a good lie before she blurted out, "We're going shopping."

"Really?" He tilts his head and then looks at me.

I shrug, listening to Nancy ramble about some sale going on. He finally let her go after two minutes but not before forcing me to witness yet another one of their extremely public, borderline face-sucking, kisses.

Without thinking, I honked my horn and startled them.

"Sorry, I'm just really excited about the sale," I said, watching Steve walk away.

Steve drove off and Nancy finally climbed into my car, placing the bat in the backseat next to my book bag.

"Remind me why you like that douchebag, again?" I say as we pull out onto the main road.

"He's not a douchebag." She defends.

"And you're not a liar."

She rolls her eyes playfully before turning on Blondie.

✮

As soon as I parked, I bolted out and grabbed my stuff. Jonathan was already shooting at a couple of beer cans.

"Aren't you supposed to be aiming for the cans?" I teased, watching another bullet miss the target.

"Actually, you see the spaces in between the cans? Yeah, I'm aiming for those." He chuckled.

Nancy and I put our bags down. I grabbed my handgun and started putting bullets in while Jonathan and Nancy began talking.

"Have you ever shot one of these before?" He asked her.

"Have you met my parents?" She jokes.

"I haven't shot one since I was ten." He shares. "My dad took me hunting on my birthday, and made me kill a rabbit."

"A rabbit?"

"He thought it would make me more of a man or something. I cried for a week."

Nancy and I both started laughing before she pulled us back into the conversation, turning to me, "Let me guess, Hopper taught you how to shoot?"

I nodded my head and fired one bullet into a Bud Light can, knocking it off of the wood. Nancy looked over at me, surprised by the shot.

"After my sister passed and my mom left. He knew I would have to be home alone sometimes due to work so, he made me practice."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm way better than Jonathan."

"I hate to admit it, but she is." He agreed.

"Wow." She mouthed then looked back to him. "And your dad?"

He cocks the gun and thinks for a second, "Well, I guess at some point, he and my mother loved each other but... I wasn't around for that part."

Nancy reaches out for the revolver and Jonathan tells her where to aim.

"I don't think my parents ever loved each other." She says, watching the cans.

"They must've married for some reason," I said.

"My mom was young. My dad was older but he had a cushy job, money, and came from a good family." She raises the gun, picking her target. "So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac... and started their nuclear family."

"Screw that," Jonathan mumbled.

"Yeah, screw that."

Nancy's bullet flawlessly, hit the can on her first try. It was impressive, to say the least.

"Take notes on how to shoot like a girl, Byers," I said, taking another shot. Nancy's bubbly laugh practically bounced off of every tree. Jonathan just shot his head while we kept shooting.

Eventually, Jonathan knocked a few cans over. Surprisingly it was fun hanging out with the two of them. We all swapped stories about our childhoods, most of which weren't super depressing.

✮

After a while, we started looking around for any creatures. I walked ahead of them with my gun in my hands. They were talking together but I wasn't paying attention until I heard yelling.

When I looked back they were standing a few feet away arguing. Just as I was about to go over there, Jonathan caught up to me, leaving Nancy behind.

"Everything alright?" I asked him.

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Everything was not fine. Nancy stayed behind us but eventually, it got dark out so we pulled out our flashlights. I could hear something moving around us so I stopped.

"What are you-"

"Shhh." I paused, listening closer. "Do you guys hear that?"

"Yeah." They both said at the same time.

We walked a bit further until we spotted a deer lying on the ground, covered in blood. It must have been attacked by a bigger animal. Nancy and I crouched down to get a closer look.

Poor deer.

"Looks like he's been hit," Nance says, looking at Jonathan and me. "We can't just leave it like this."

We all looked at the gun in Nancy's hand, we all knew what was going through her head.

"I'll do it," Jonathan stated, reaching for the gun. Nancy and I shared a look before she handed it over to him.

"Are you sure? I can do it if you prefer." I offered.

"I'm not ten anymore."

Nance and I stood back while Jonathan cocked the gun. Just as he was getting ready to shoot the deer was swept away by something. We jumped back, gasping.

"What the hell was that?" She said, scared to pick the flashlight up.

"I don't know."

None of us saw what took that deer. One second it was lying there, barely clinging to life then the next second it completely disappeared.

We walked around, looking for whatever it was. There was nothing there but the blood left behind from the deer.

"Where did it go?" Nancy asked.

"I don't know," I responded.

"Do you guys see any more blood?"

"No." We both said.

We were spread out looking, Jonathan went east and I went west. I figured Nancy went with Jonathan when I could barely hear her boots crunch under the autumn leaves. I swear it was only two or three minutes apart when I heard Jonathan yelling for Nancy. I took off running back to where we found the deer.

"Nancy!" He yelled louder than before.

"Jonathan, where's Nance?" I said, panicking.

"I don't know! I can't find her. I thought she went with you!"

"I thought she was with you!"

That's when we both realized Nancy was gone.

[all-pacas]

would you write something about park meeting cameron for the first time?

honestly this very much feels like the first scene of a longer story where park tries and fails to play matchmaker but i also ran out of steam so.

-

Park has never been to a funeral before.

Statistical outlier, she knows. When she was nineteen, a cousin died in California, but they didn’t really know one another and she had not been expected to attend. Her dad’s parents were still alive; Popo had gotten divorced in ’73. For some reason she finds herself puzzling over this on the drive to House’s funeral. If there’s some etiquette she’s missing out on. Will she be expected to cry? Will she know anyone there?

She’s expecting Dr. Wilson. Dr. Foreman. Taub and Adams and Chase, obviously, and she’s hoping she can maybe grab a spot next to Chase, because he’s definitely been to a funeral before (are there assigned seats?): these are things she’d rather think about, anyway. Things that aren’t my boss is dead. Things that aren’t smoke inhalation and fourth degree burns. If the world was fair, he should have died of an overdose. Doing something he loved.

She’s relieved to spot Chase in the funeral home foyer. There’s a little stand of brochures, pop-psychology crap: God and Grief and You and Ten Commandments for Mourning. Chase is leaning against a wall and reading one decorated with a rainbow, The Emotions of Grief, so Park doesn’t feel bad at all interrupting: “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he replies, making a complicated face and putting the brochure back. Only belatedly does Park wonder why Chase is hanging out in the front hall reading brochures. She should go inside, but she doesn’t want to, is the thing.

“I bet House would be pissed if he saw these,” she says. “Why aren’t we in a secular funeral home?”

“Hmm,” Chase says, even though she was joking; he looks uncomfortable and she bites her lip and remembers that he’s religious, or something like religious, or anyway had driven Popo to Mass a couple weeks ago and actually stayed for the service. Because Popo had made him, but still.

“How are you doing?” she asks, feeling awkward.

“Good,” Chase lies.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she blurts, because when you think about it that’s the only real reason to plant yourself in a lobby with grief brochures like this; if you’re waiting but don’t really want to look like you are.

“Just didn’t want to go inside yet,” Chase lies, in that smooth way he has that he thinks is convincing, where his eyes go all flat and dead even though he’s smiling. It’s super obvious, but Park hasn’t told him, probably no one has: it’s a pretty useful tell.

“I’ve never been to a funeral before,” Park says.

“Really?” Chase asks, and he actually does look interested this time, his eyebrows quirking.

“I know. It’s a statistical outlier.”

“You’re lucky,” he says cautiously. Which is another way of looking at it. She chews the inside of her cheek and thinks about asking if he’d walk in with her: just then the door opens. Three people come in, a middle aged couple and a blonde woman: the couple keep walking through the foyer and the woman stops.

“Robert,” she says, and Park blinks, because sometimes she forgets Chase has a first name, and she’s so taken aback she almost doesn’t see the look on his face.

“Hey,” he says, in the same suppressed tone of voice he uses when he’s lying his ass off.

The woman takes a couple decisive steps towards him and they hug — no, embrace, not just the polite one-two-three backpat of friendly colleagues but a proper clinging hug, Chase’s eyes squeezed shut over her shoulder and Park — really, really needs to get out of here, right now, this is clearly not for her.

“I’m so glad to see you,” the woman says, muffled by Chase’s jacket. “How are you doing?”

They pull apart; Park continues to edge away.

Chase makes a complicated expression, averting his eyes: it isn’t an answer, but apparently it is; she rests her hand on his arm. “I’m glad to see you,” he says. And then: “Uh. Oh, this is — Park.”

Park wonders if Chase maybe forgot she has a first name, too. “Hi,” she says awkwardly, caught by the door.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” the woman says, smiling warmly, her eyes wet: she doesn’t seem embarrassed or put out, so maybe Park isn’t interrupting after all. “I’m Allison Cameron —“

“Oh!” Park says, too loudly, and Chase does a whole body eyeroll, exasperated to the heavens, but House had mentioned Cameron a lot, usually to make fun of Chase, and Park has been dying to know about her ever since she learned Chase had once been married. Cameron looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Nice to meet you,” Park adds hurriedly. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Actually not that much. But I’ve heard about you.”

“Thanks,” Cameron says wryly.

“Not from me,” Chase says.

“Thanks,” Cameron says again, even drier.

Now that she knows what she’s looking at, Park feels safe really looking. Cameron is pretty, but in a girly, delicate way that doesn’t seem like Chase’s usual skanky type: no boobs to speak of, not all that tall, sensible heels. Then she notices the wedding ring.

“I should — go,” Park says abruptly.

Behind Cameron, Chase frowns.

“It was nice meeting you,” Cameron says.

“You too!” Park squeaks, and runs.

-

[btr-rewatch]

Big Time Rush Season 1, Episode 18: “Big Time Concert” (Part 3)

Highlights: 3/4 of Big Time Rush move on with their lives.

In my previous post, we'd just left off at the scene where Hawk and his assistant have made the decision to target James in their big "take down Rocque Records once and for all" plan.

Over at Rocque Records, Kelly informs Gustavo that since Griffin spent $2 million on the band, it'll take that same amount to get them back.

This scene brings back such memories of a younger me being so intrigued by Kelly's necklace because it looks like big pieces of Orbit chewing gum.

I just. I want to chew on that necklace, ok?

Kelly thinks she's figured out a way they can get that kind of money, and Gustavo is thrilled...until Kelly tells him he's got to sell his mansion.

Meanwhile, everyone is settling back in at the Knight house (minus James, who's out riding his tiny bike around and brooding). I like the touch of having the wall of family pictures that contain actual photos of the actors—I spot a handful of Kendall's headshots that I recognize. I especially like that there's the same photo twice.

Rather than seeing it as a funny mistake on the part of the set designer, I choose to believe either

Mama Knight likes that picture so much that she had to include it in two different frames

Or, alternatively, someone (maybe Katie or Carlos) decided at some point to pull a prank where they slowly start replacing every photo on the wall with that one single picture and see how long it takes before anyone notices.

Kendall asks Logan to go over where they are currently in their "Rebuild our Minnesota dreams schedule," and can I just say that the guys (minus James) have slipped back into their lives as nobodies in Minnesota seamlessly? Like, I know it was James's dream, and the whole reason they went was because Kendall's offer made it so James could have that shot at stardom, and Kendall never really wanted to be in a boyband, but still. They had so many opportunities in that short time, experienced so much, made friends, established romantic relationships, and saw how amazing that life can be. You'd think they'd all be mourning at least a little. Unless they're just in a different type of denial than James was.

Although, I suppose their response can make sense when you look at their individual personalities. Logan's pragmatic, so I'm sure it could have been easy for him to brush off their brief taste of stardom with self-assurances that it wasn't a sturdy, logical career to pursue anyway, and failure was much more likely than success in the long run.

Carlos is such a carefree, go-with-the-flow, high-on-life guy that he can find happiness anywhere. He rolls with the punches and just looks to the next exciting thing (ie. becoming a radioactive superhero. Love that for you, Los)

Kendall is a little trickier because he does kind of have an obsessive personality, and he's just as determined about things as James. I'm almost surprised he doesn't take the end of the band, his chance with Jo, and so on harder. But then there's the part of me that says there are other things at play that overpower whatever sadness Kendall might have, such as him seeing it as a chance to finally relax for a bit. He'd been working so hard to hold everything together in L.A., churning out pep talks and dealing with Gustavo and constant shenanigans. He can take a breath now. Also! While I don't think Kendall has necessarily had a difficult life overall (it's clear he's had a good, loving upbringing, has a nice house, etc) I don't think his life has been easy. He watched his parent's marriage fall apart when he was super young; his dad walked out, his mom has had to work her butt off to support him and Katie, and Kendall also has a job (I think the only one of the boys who does) to help bring in extra money. That kid knows that sometimes life throws you a curveball, and you've got to hold your head up and just keep going. No time for a pity party or wallowing in "what ifs."

So yeah, anyway...tangent over. My favorite part of this little scene is the look Kendall gives to Logan after he reads the first item off their list.

Look at him. There's so much love in that look. He's so proud of Logan going after his dreams. I love Kendall, and I love their friendship, and I love this stupid show.

And I need to briefly get off topic here solely to mention how much I've always liked Logan's accent. Love the way he says words. He turns the short "e" sound into short "i" in so many things. "Ten" becomes "tin," and "Kendall" becomes "Kindall." I also have a distinct memory of one episode where he manages to turn the two-syllable word "ruin" into the single-syllable word "roon." Always got a kick out of that.

With all this sidetracking, it is going to take me FOREVER to get through this episode. I am barely twenty minutes in.

After Super Carlos bursts into the room and announces they're going to start righting the wrongs they left behind when they moved to L.A., the guys go to apologize to Mrs. Magicowski. They promised to shovel her walkway if she let them use her car to get to the audition, then they ditched her and went to be a band, lol. I love Mrs. Magicowski; she's such a sweet old woman. I want to know more about the relationship the boys have with her. I imagine they took good care of her prior to leaving—checking in on her, shoveling, raking leaves, bringing her meals—and in return, she was like a grandma to all of them.

They look ridiculous, btw.

I mean, Kendall I can excuse, but Logan and Carlos look like they've just rung a doorbell and are waiting for candy on Halloween. Bunch of weirdos.

No, wait, you know what? This is exactly how they looked on Halloween night as kids, I guarantee it. Carlos as a superhero, Logan as a doctor, Kendall as a hockey player, and James like a rockstar. Speaking of James, what's he up to?

Oh.

Shake it off, Jamesy.

Also, the tiny bike still is very funny, but @day-dreams22, I'm pretty sure you're right that it's a BMX bike. After he gets hit, there's a shot where you can see the words "goose" on the bike, which means it's likely a Mongoose-brand BMX trick/stunt bike. And look at that hop off the curb. James Diamond, secret BMX stunt rider CONFIRMED.

Ok, you know what? I was aiming for 4 posts total for this episode, but it looks like it'll end up being 5 because I'm rambling so much during these. Hope no one minds having to split it into so many parts, but I worry if they're too long, they'll be difficult to read and get through. Anyway, I'm having a lot of fun being able to just go on about whatever, haha.

And James getting hit by a car seems like a fitting place to leave this episode. Hope he survives <3

[rosetintedchainsaw]

Name: Courtney Hazel Dellian

Username: courtneydarkangel6 (the L is an i on Roblox, I made an acc with an L but I forgot the pswrd because my brain turned to mush)

Nicknames/Aliases: Court, Witch-hazel, Rosalyn

Age: 21

Birthday: October 31st, 1995

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual (“As long as they know how to hop a fence, I’ll keep them around.”)

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Addictions: (“Whenever something stops working, I try something else…”)

Religion: Atheist (“He never saved me when I needed him.”)

Lives in: Seems to never stay in one place for too long. (“Nowhere’s safe enough…”)

Occupation: (“Whatever I can find.”)

Weapons: Keeps a taser, gun, and various axes hidden in her van. (“I have to.”)

Alignment: True Neutral

Text Color: Orange

Main Hobbies: Painting, Playing her guitar, Joyriding, Taking care of her cat Daze, Blasting shitty divorced-dad rock on her MP3, Stargazing near the ocean (“Only on good days.”)

Favorite Food: Jimmy John’s (“When I can afford it.”)

Favorite Flower: (“...”)

Scent: Avril Lavigne's Black Star perfume (“I’ve made it last.”)

Handedness: Ambidextrous (“As long as they both work.”)

Blood Color: Red (How could I forget?)

Themes:

Playlist:

Fun Fact: “I’ve been banned from every single bar in Wisconsin all in one night... And no, I don't remember why.”

Special Interests: Creepypasta, Medieval Torture, Biblical and Pagan Imagery, Cryptids, etc. (“I’d list more, but these were all from so long ago… I haven't had time to get into anything new.”)

Stims: Pacing, Fidgeting with whatever object she can get her hands on.

Stimboard: WIP

Moodboard: WIP

Fashion Board: WIP

Comfort Objects: Her guitar, The few CD’s she has left, her MP3 player, her weighted blanket, a giant caterpillar stuffie she won at a carnival ages ago, and her daisy chain bracelet. (I can't stand to look at it, but it's always there on my wrist. It feels like I’m punishing myself forever.)

Family: Sandra Dellian (“Mom, but not really.”), Leonard Copeland (“Pig bastard who left us to rot.”), Lindsay Dellian (“...I miss you.”)

Friends: Daisy Daisy Bell (...I'm sorry I failed you.), Alex Davis (“I don't know why you still try.”), José (“I learned a few basic words for him. He was nice.”)

Romance: (“I’d rather not talk about any of them.”)

Enemies: (sighhhhhhhhhhh “Well I have one constantly on my trail. All the time. No matter where I go. So that's something.”)

Pets: (“I had two cats, but my baby Alexander’s gone now. Now all I have is Daze. I don't say her name out loud often. I just snap my fingers and she comes up to me.”)

Brief Personality: Courtney may seem like a jaded, exhausted, and terminally troubled person. And that assumption would be correct. Nowadays, she barely speaks unless it's to Daze or one of her few old friends online. She goes through life in a dreadfully slow and dazed stumble, and sometimes doesn't seem all the way there. When she isn't in a depressive and almost bitterly-mournful state, she’s usually caught up in some sort of trouble, usually her previous ex, who has been stalking her and sending her threats for quite some time. She tends to move around often, mostly to escape him, but he somehow always manages to track her down. There’s also the underlying feeling she may be subconsciously searching for something.

Backstory: Courtney and Lindsay Dellian were both born on October 31st 1995, their parents being Sandra Dellian and Leonard Copeland. Early on the family had been stricken with turbulence. Sandra had been smoking and using drugs during her pregnancy, which therefore caused complications that endangered both her and her unborn children’s health greatly. Her husband, Leonard, had also been battling a long line of addiction for most of his life, but had been twelve months sober before the twin’s birth. The two had been in deep financial debt, and were both dreading having to take care of their children once they were brought home. They knew they couldn't.

It soon became clear with the twins that Courtney was the brash and defiant problem child, while Lindsay had been born mute. She never spoke or played with any other children, while Courtney lashed out at the other kids, and regularly mouthed off at her teachers and parents. Despite their differences, Courtney was wildly protective of Lindsay, and would keep her out of any trouble she herself caused.

Both children were severely neglected by their parents, mainly left to fend for themselves as they grew up. Eventually, Courtney’s parents had started taking her to various child psychologists, after her behavioral issues had become “too much” for them to handle. When Courtney had turned eleven years old in 2006, Sandra and Leonard filed for divorce, and Leonard took Lindsay with him. Leonard simply couldn't deal with Courtney’s attitude, and had started regularly snapping at both his wife and children. His addiction had finally returned as well, causing him to spiral. Courtney suffered a horrible nervous breakdown after being separated from her twin sister, and soon her mother admitted her into the Morning Star Youth Correctional Facility.

There, she became acquainted with a strange and quiet girl named Jessica Pierce. Their friendship did not last long, however. And soon Courtney became paranoid, and convinced that Jessica was secretly a demonic entity posing as a human child. She tried to express her concern to various staff members, but was soon put under sedation, and was forced to take various psychological tests for her sudden "delusion". After a string of mysterious deaths and incidents at the correctional facility, Jessica eventually ran away, never to be seen again.

After being released for “good behavior”, Courtney spent the rest of her adolescence causing more problems, and overall growing more and more reckless and defiant. Around that time, her mother had started dating a new boyfriend, who quickly became abusive to both Courtney and her mother. After attempting to run away from home multiple times, Courtney soon became involved with various friend groups as she went through middle school and eventually transitioned into high school. For her, sneaking out with them late at night to the skatepark was her only escape. It was around that time when one of her friends introduced her to online websites, one of them being Roblox.

Courtney mainly saw the sites as fun and stupid distractions, but soon her attitude changed when she met a user named Daisy Bell. They almost reminded her of Lindsay in a way. Her and Daisy soon grew close, and Courtney developed an almost “older-sister” attitude towards Daisy, fending off anyone that messed with her. She started growing more and more addicted to the Internet, using it as a form of escapism as her home life fell apart rapidly. Eventually, Sandra and her boyfriend got into a violent altercation, and Courtney herself had to physically restrain her mother’s boyfriend from attacking them. Courtney soon mentally spiraled, and her drug addiction, which had already been bad before, soon became out of control, to the point of nearly overdosing in her room numerous times.

Daisy Bell eventually stopped coming online, and Courtney grew desperate, putting up posters around town and making posts on forums asking anyone if they knew anything about her online friend, but no information came about. Courtney soon suffered a complete mental breakdown, and started ripping out her own hair before her mother’s boyfriend called the police, claiming she had physically attacked him. Courtney spent a few months in a juvenile center, before being released. A few years had passed, and Courtney eventually graduated high school.

Courtney kept in touch with a few of Daisy’s old friends, but eventually disappeared off the web for a while after her mother’s boyfriend threatened to shoot her and her mother, which caused Courtney to finally snap and run away from home. She began couch surfing with a few of her skating friends, before moving in with Toby Bayers, a friend of hers who she soon began dating. She and Toby began experimenting with drugs, before she eventually became pregnant with his child. She unwillingly kept the child, but soon left Toby after he became physically violent towards her. She arranged one of her closest friends from school to look after the child, and help her possibly file a restraining order against Toby. She continued to couch surf with many of her friends, before eventually stealing all of her mother’s money and fleeing to Italy under the pseudo-name Rosalyn to remain safe after Toby relentlessly stalked her after their breakup.

Around 2015, Courtney eventually sent a message to Daisy’s inactive account. Even after five years, Daisy remained a deep and dark subject in her mind, that tirelessly haunted her every waking moment. If only she had kept in touch. If only she had done something. She knew Camilla was responsible. Either partly or fully. The thought that something horrible happened to Daisy ate away at her, and continued to chip away at her psyche. Courtney soon moved out of Italy after one of Toby’s friends who lived over there had located her. She moved back to America, and has spent pretty much then up until now moving from motel to motel, and sometimes even opts to sleep inside of her stolen van, which has pretty much become her safe haven. She had been taking care of two cats she had adopted in Italy, one of which she named Daze, after her old friend, and Alexander, after the stuffed dog toy her sister Lindsay used to always carry around with her.

Courtney spends most of her time nowadays either doing various odd-jobs to keep herself from starving, or keeping herself on the move from Toby, who still attempts to contact her to this day. Despite her life being one long string of misfortune after misfortune, she feels she cannot give up, no matter how much the option tugs at her each day. She still regularly keeps in contact with Alex Davis, and Toby can't chase after her forever. One day, everything will get better.

It couldn't get any worse, right?

[aboutcustardcreams]

People Help the People

Still grieving cause I finished watching another amazing series "Broadchurch" and this is my way to cope. Writing! I hope this is a healthy mechanism cause it's the only thing I do. Always. No kidding. Hope there aren't many typos or mistakes, because guess what? I didn't reread :3

Summary: Sometimes it's nice to be reminded by those you love how much you mean to them. Beth Latimer is natural at that. /Set somewhere in season three/

word count: 3800 ish

When Chloe picked up her phone, you glanced at her with the corner of your eye. As ‘dad’ slipped from her lips, the episode you two were so carefully watching turned unimportant, so you paused it. 

It was no secret that Chloe was particularly tethered to Mark, all things considered. It had been incredibly painful for her to see her parents drafting apart, filing the divorce’s papers and taking different paths. Beth with you and Mark… well, by himself, wandering here and there, searching for who knows what. 

You met Beth some months after the trial; she and Mark were already in crisis by then. Their marriage, you learned, broke long before Joe Miller took their son’s life, but they only admitted it to themselves after the tragedy fell upon them, too busy mourning their son. With everything going on, to talk about their marriage going south didn’t seem right, nor as important as dealing with a pain so colossal as the loss of a child, by hand of a friend, no less. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine here,” she responds lightly, but honestly. “Mom’s reading a bedtime story to Lizzie and I’m watching a movie,” she briefly glanced up at you, a tight smile curving her lips, “Yeah. With her.” 

You froze, suddenly feeling uneasy. You couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but you got the feeling that Mark probably asked if you were near her. Her daughter. Not yours. As if he wouldn’t know. Where else would you be anyway, considering you lived there now? You never fully grasped what his opinion of you was. If he hated you, envied you or tolerated you.

You leaned back against the couch, and forced yourself to push aside those voices in your head, still accusing you of living in someone else's nest.  

It’s been a few days since the last time Mark dropped in to say hello. Weeks, maybe. Maybe he passed by when you weren’t there, or met up with the girls somewhere else. Beth would tell you if she met him in the street, but she didn’t. You knew it was difficult for him to show up and be a dad, despite everything. 

“So late at night?” Chloe’s voice takes you from your thoughts, “Are you far? Maybe I could–” 

You tried to think of the reasons why Mark would call Chloe at this time of the evening. You could think of nothing immediate. You turned towards the teenager again, gwaning at your lip, as you spotted Chloe’s side profile crunched up in concern. Features dimming a bit. Only a moment ago, she had another light in her eyes, she was smiling and commenting on the movie as the two of you watched it. She cared for you, liked you, maybe loved you. On your part, there were no doubts whatsoever, you loved Chloe and Lizzie as if they were yours.

Before meeting you, Beth had nobody to talk to. It took her some time to let you in, trust you, as it should have been, all things considered. But when she did, your life opened up to a myriad of possibilities. To be able to enter her world had been the best gift you could ever wish for. She found a friend in you, a trustworthy one. You gave her a sense of stability she was so desperately looking for. And then, it all blossomed into love. Before finding you, everything revolved around Mark and his grief. Sometimes it still feels that way. He made Danny’s death all about him, and that behavior caused great damage to the Latimer’s family that eventually fell apart for good. Beth was the one who suffered the most, in your opinion. Because she had to crowd out her ongoing pain to deal with Chloe and Mark’s. Then you came along, and made it a little easier to deal with it all. 

At first, you remember, you didn’t have the words. What was to say to a woman who lost something as important and essential as a child? For a while, you had no idea how to help her. So you did the only thing you could do, be there, be present. Listen to her cries and outbursts, hold her with the promise to never ever leave her side. That’s when she started to heal, to feel better, to smile more, to act like she was alive again. 

“No, I know, I’m just worried,” Chloe’s hand reached out to yours, probably having noticed the nervous drumming of your fingertips over the fabric of the couch. You met her eyes then, and she gave you a soft smile, when you gently intertwined your fingers together. 

“I miss you too, dad,” she trails off, and you feel your chest tighten a bit, “do you think we can meet up soon? Maybe we can have lunch together, here at home? Lizzie would love that and–” 

You winced when her hopeful tone turned into a discouraged one, “Oh, yeah right. I get it,” her attempt at pretending to be alright by whatever he told her didn’t convince you for a second. 

It doesn’t take a genie to understand he let her down. Again. Why was it so hard to show up and be there for his daughters? It enraged you, his behavior. 

When Chloe withdraws her hand from your grasp, you’re sure to feel your heart creaking slightly. Her jaw tightens as she nods wordlessly, only briefly throwing you a look, whose meaning turned out to be quite a mystery. Until it didn’t. 

“Oh,” you breathed out, blinking  repeatedly. You mouthed a small ‘sorry’ before getting up from the couch, later motioning to her you’d go outside for a breath of fresh air, acting as if being indirectly told to leave didn’t hurt you. Get a grip on yourself, and woman up. You gave her one last tight smile, and then reached up to the front door, stepped outside only to sit down at the entrance, on the stairs. Flopping down, you raked your fingers through your hair, ruffling it a bit. 

You looked up at the sky, a pout soon forming on your face. No stars. You were hoping to see the stars. 

You find yourself thinking about a lot of things. Your life with Beth. Your relationship with Chloe and Lizzie. And the highly questionable behavior of Mark. After four years, he still struggled to move on. Never tried to, perhaps. A part of you thought Mark died with Danny that day, becoming the ghost of the man he used to be. Only an empty shell, unable to find any form of comfort, not even in the eyes of his daughters. 

Beth, somehow, succeeded where Mark failed. That woman never failed to surprise you. Beth was the strongest person you’ve ever met in your entire life, she even helped other people now, as sexual assault crisis worker. When you thought she couldn’t surprise you more, she showed up one day telling you about her new job, with so much excitement flashing in her eyes. You were so proud of her. So immensely grateful to have crossed paths with her. Beth had been able to convert her ongoing pain into something noble and useful to the community, despite that same community letting her down when it came to getting justice for her son.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, at the thought. You’re quick to wipe it away, when you hear the front door creaking open again. 

A smile crept on your features, when you feel the warmth of a familiar jacket fall upon your shoulders. Of course it would be hers. She knows how you love her clothes. Her scent filled your nostrils right away, and you can’t help but inhale deeply to have more of it. “Chloe told me you were here,” she stroked your head, and you glanced up at her, finally meeting her eyes. 

You hummed, “looks like you found me,” you teased softly.

“What are you doing here?”, she crouched down by your side, her thighs touching yours as she does. 

You cling to the jacket, and take in a small sigh, before replying, “Chloe was on the phone, I thought I’d give her some privacy. Is she still-”

Beth shakes her head, predicting your question. You hummed, a tight smile graced upon your lips. A part of you wanted to ask if she was alright, but you asked something different, instead. “Lizzie is asleep?”

Beth nodded with a smile. She later scooped you a bit closer, draping an arm over your hip. “Yeah, she wants you to know that you’re way better than me at doing the voice of Mr. Penguin,” her attempts at sounding annoyed aren’t convincing in the slightest. When you looked up at her, you spotted the veil of amusement flashing in her eyes, making you chuckle. 

“Aahw, is that so?” You leaned further to kiss that adorable pout of hers. It was true, you were good; the only problem was that Lizzie hardly ever fell asleep when it was you narrating the stories, because of the energy and the poignancy you used. Story time with you became a real playtime. That’s why you three made a deal, you’d be the one reading the adventures of Mr. Penguin on the weekends, when there was no school the day after. 

Beth gently squeezed your hip, “Don’t be smug now,” she teased, and you chuckled against her mouth, “I can teach you how to be more convincing for the next time. Mr. Penguin has a specific accent, you know,” you teased, eyebrows shooting up in a cheeky way. She hummed, before pressing her lips against your hairline, offering you a sweet cuddle. 

When she pulled away, she said, “You know, you didn’t need to leave the house to give Chlo some privacy earlier.” 

You hesitated, looking down on your lap. “I didn’t leave the house,” you explained. “I’m on the porch, am I not?” 

“Still,” she insisted, gesturing to where you were sitting. You sighed and rolled your shoulders, probably in the attempt to downplay the topic, but Beth was having none of that. She clasped your chin and gently lifted it so that you’d meet her eyes. Your heart can’t help but beat faster. 

“Why are you here, really?” Her sweetness turns you into a puddle. 

“No reason, Beth…”, you insisted uneasily. 

With her hazel eyes squinted, she muttered “Liar,” to you. “You should know better than to do that to me.” 

You laughed slightly, merely shaking your head at her ways. “Beth,” you started meekly, “I simply thought that Chlo needed a moment of privacy,” it wasn’t a lie, it just simply wasn’t the whole truth. “It felt like she couldn’t talk freely to Mark with me sitting so close.”

She cleared her throat, nodding in understanding. “So it was because of him?”

“Not because of him,” you objected, sounding almost childish. 

She giggled. “Hey, I know, alright? I’m just teasing you. Will you stop worrying so much? Don’t act like you don’t belong in this house.”

Confusion flashed across your face. “How exactly am I doing that?”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at you as if it was kind of obvious, “By sitting on the porch because Chloe was on the phone.”

You shyly ducked your head, a little smile tugging at your lips, “you mean your property stops at the doorway? What about this beautiful garden over here?” 

“First of all it’s our property, not just mine” she sounded almost offended by your assumption. You giggled, a wave of warmth flashed through your heart and lit up your eyes once again. She had superpowers, Beth Latimer. She couldn’t be a common human being, because of how extraordinary she was. “You belong here. By my side, with Chloe and Lizzie,” she brushed her hand over your cheek, before brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t you ever doubt that for a moment, please.”

“I never do,” you respond, fondly. “It’s just– I just wish things between Chloe and Mark were different. Better. All she wants is her dad close and he– it seems to me he doesn’t care enough. Which is ridiculous, and cruel,” you know you’ve started rambling the moment your hands go flying here and there to give emphasis to your speech. “I know it’s not my place to judge, and I’m sorry if I do. I should probably shut my mouth, so if I’m crossing  a line, feel free to slap me, but Jesus, he enrages me!” 

The light in Beth’s eyes slowly dimmed, not because of your opinion of Mark, but at the realization of all the things you were only now allowing yourself to voice out loud. You were always so calm, so composed, probably for the sake of the family. She had been like that so she knew what it felt like. So she lets you continue, despite wanting nothing more than cupping your cheeks and kissing all your worries away. 

“I can’t stand it when he keeps letting her down. I see how it hurts her. How can he not notice? And Lizzie, gosh, she is still young, but someday she will ask questions about why her dad is hardly ever and then guess what? You’re gonna be the one picking up the pieces, again, and it’s not fair. It’s just not fair, Beth,” you stopped abruptly, feeling short of breath. 

Beth’s hand is still on your face. “Hey, it’s okay, trust me, I know. And it’s perfectly normal for you to feel that way, and you know why?” You looked up at her, frowning confusedly. She, on the other hand, gave you the calmest, most genuine smile to ever exist. How did she have an answer for everything? “Because you’re the closest thing to a parent for the girls. You feel responsible for them, you care for them in a way that– I swear, it moves me like nothing else. When something goes wrong, you’re there for them, you help them out, you make them laugh. It’s not just me. You pick up the pieces as much as I do and you don’t even see it.” 

“But—“ you still try to object meekly. 

Her response is categorical, yet there is fondness in her voice. “No buts.” 

For a second you just sit there awkwardly, looking adorably conflicted in Beth’s eyes. Then she chuckles, and despite the sound of it, there’s something sad flashing in her eyes. “Listen to me very carefully. I felt so lonely, for a really long time. Even before all that happened with Danny. But then I met you,” she paused, voice filling with raw and vivid emotion. “And I just— you showed me what it means to be seen, to be alive, and feel like a teenager in love who’s afraid of nothing and enthusiastic at everything.” A single tear wets your cheek; you don’t even notice, not until her thumb brushes against your skin. “You gave me another chance at falling in love and, my dear, how I love being in love with you,” her smile wobbled, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest. Butterflies tickling your stomach, up to your throat. 

You have so many things to tell her, yet nothing could ever top her speech, or match your feelings. “Beth, I–” How to describe a love so colossal as yours with only a lifetime at your disposal? She looked at you as if she knew, though. “I love you. I love you so, so much,” you leaned closer to her, adhering your forehead against hers, delicately brushing the tip of her nose with yours. “You’re everything to me, and the girls, you’re right– they feel like mine, egotistically speaking.” She smiled amusedly at that, slightly shaking her head, “They are yours,” she assures.

You hummed, in thought. “I just wish I could do more for you and Chloe, but sometimes all I feel is this sense of worthlessness inside.” 

Beth’s brows furrowed almost painfully, “which is ridiculous,” she placed a hand upon your chest, gently pulling away so that she could see your eyes better, and get these crazy ideas out of your system, somehow. “The girls adore you, you hear me? I do. So much my heart could burst any moment for all the love I feel for you.” She is so cute when she is all flustered. Once again, you find her fingertips raking through your hair, to better expose your face, the face of the woman she couldn’t do without. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, so please, treat yourself with kindness, or else…” 

You gasped, when leaning closer, Beth nibbled on your skin instead of kissing your cheek like you had expected, “Oi! You bit me!”

She grinned, eyebrows shooting up amusedly, “you deserved that.”

“Maybe I did,” you conceded, sweeping your tongue over your lips. She caught the movement with her eyes, and her mouth suddenly went dry. 

“Kiss me, Beth.” You were sure that the sky was devoid of any stars that night, and yet, you could bet to see a constellation in her hazel eyes as soon as you came with that whispered request. A smile creeps up to her face, those cute little wrinkles in the corner of her eyes widen, making her look even more beautiful. 

She drew closer, holding onto your jacket, her jacket, her lips parting but still not touching yours, “ask me again,” her teasings are so deliciously irresistible. 

You moaned, the sound though is destined to muffle in her mouth, and you can’t wait. “Kiss me, Beth. Please, just kiss me.” 

She clings to you in a way that makes you feel all warm inside. She is gentle, yet there’s a side of her that’s also possessive and needy. And that turns you on so much. The thought of her needing you as much as you needed her darkened your eyes and you couldn’t help that. 

She chased your lips, hands tangling in your hair, and breaths coming short and uneven within seconds. 

You were wrong before to think there were no stars that night. Suddenly your vision was filled with them. Luminous, unreal tiny dots everywhere. Shining bright into her eyes, her smile, echoing in the sound of her lips popping and crashing against yours.

“You shine so bright, Beth,” At your confession, she whimpers, head gets lighter, to the point that she feels like floating. To keep balance, she pulls you even closer, holding on to you for dear life. She pushes her tongue past your lips, crashes against yours, fights for dominance. She takes all the oxygen and you’re more than happy to end up breathless for her. 

Her voice sends you a tingle, “If I shine, I do it for you,” her hands slide to your middle, guiding you to crawl on top of her. As she says that, the kiss deepens even more and you giggle, both for what she just said, and by the tip of her tongue expertly lapping at the inside of your mouth. 

Her back gently leans against the doorframe as you lie on top of her as she asked. After that, a silly idea comes up to your mind so you lift your jacket over your heads, creating a little love nest. 

“We look like two crazy teenagers,” Beth stifled a laugh. 

You nodded your head, pecking at her nose. “Imagine if Chloe saw us. Busted by your daughter,” she chuckled again and started playing with the tips of your hair. 

“Well, I think she would sue us to the police for having traumatized her,” the way she said that, so seriously, and without the slightest doubt causes both your eyes and mouth to part open in horror. 

When Beth bursts into a fit of giggles, you realize she was just teasing you. What a pushover you are. What a tease she is.

“Ha, ha! Very funny, Beth,” you said sarcastically. 

“You have to admit it is,” she trailed off, cheekily. 

Before you can reply to that, the front door swings open, causing Beth to slide rearward, and with you still on top of her, her hands tightened around your middle on instinct as the two of you squealed.

“What are you two— oh. Oh!” Chloe’s voice is filled with amusement as she puts two and two together. “On the porch, mom? Really?” 

“It wasn’t like–!” You objected, heat rushing to your cheeks. Then you freeze, while Beth’s heart fills with such tenderness, in the fact of what has just happened. Her mouth parts ajar, the corners slightly up. 

You looked at her, utterly in awe. Then at Chloe. Slowly, almost mechanically. She spoke to you. Not Beth. It was you who called mom.

Beth can’t help the tears pricking at her eyes. 

You realize Beth can’t really get up, not before you do it first. You blink repeatedly, still feeling all flustered and confused by everything that just happened within minutes, before clumsily pulling yourself up, and then helping Beth on her feet as well. 

You need to be sure, so you ask Chloe, “did you call me—?”

Chuckling nervously, she stutters out, “Mom, yeah. Uhm... sorry, it came out so naturally. If you don’t want me to–” 

You’re quick to interject, seeing where this is going, “Oh no, no, no. No, I do,” your voice rises several octaves all of the sudden. Chloe hardly stifles a laugh at your demeanor, while Beth’s hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, in reassurance. You cleared your throat then, “if it feels right to you, so it does to me.” 

“Really? Cool,” a wave of sudden embarrassment colored her pale cheeks, but that didn’t prevent her from smiling at you. “We still have fifteen minutes till the end of the episode, so whenever you two are ready–” she grinned, before vanishing into the house again. 

You’ve never felt so lightheaded before. Of a good kind, obviously. 

“Did that actually happen?”

“Sure sounds like it,” echoed Beth, with a grin, before pressing a soft, chaste kiss above your lips. She leans into you, as you walk inside again. Heart lighter and happier. With her fingers still curled with yours, your thumb traces slow patterns over the back of her hand. 

“What were you watching?” She asks, pulling you on her lap as she flops down the couch next to Chloe, who grabbed the remote. 

“Ah you know–” you mused, “There’s this guy, really cool, thick eyebrows, good heart, who travels through space and time in a police box.”

Beth laughs lightly, “that sounds silly. What’s his name?”

Chloe scolds her softly, “It’s not silly, it’s sci-fi, mom.” 

“Name’s Doctor, by the way,” you grinned from ear to ear, impatiently waiting for her to say the next words. 

Both you and Chloe exchange a knowing glance before bursting out laughing at Beth’s confused frown and question, “Doctor who?”

[eddywoww]

I don’t think I love my dad.

I do love him, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think he’s ever really been my dad. I think it’s taken me this long to realize it.

When I was a child, I looked up to my father for working so much. He provided a lot for my family, so it was hard to connect the dots. To realize that our relationship wasn’t picturesque the way other families were, to realize I didn’t see him the way other kids saw their dads.

My dads always been mean. Mostly to my mom. She hid it really well when we were growing up, not wanting us to see how he acted. He never hit her, never threw punches. But he’s always had words like barbedwire, he’s always known how to shout his way out of a fight.

When I was a kid, I dreaded family vacation. I both loved and hated Christmas break because my mom loves Christmas. She decorated so much, loved Santa. But my father would be off work and that meant he would be home all the time. When he was home too long, he’d grow restless. If he grew restless, he’d grow mean. Him and my brother would fight endlessly, yelling and shouting at each other while I spent my time with my hands pressed to my ears in my room.

Angry, angry men.

I grew so tired of angry men, poking at each other for no reason.

It felt like I grew up with an extra sibling. Someone who was sometimes kind, sometimes giving. I started to realize that the parts of my father that were giving were all my mother. My mothers conscience, my mothers kindness. My mother standing behind him and telling him what to do, what was right. It could be argued that my father is simply unaware of how he acts sometimes, that there’s a childish shine to who he is. But that means that I didn’t grow up with a father because he’s never felt like a father to me.

I wrote an essay about him once. Because it felt right. Because there was an instructor looking at me, telling me to write about my hero. And I was so mad at my mom at the time for a number of reasons, so I wrote about my father. I lied and lied on paper and the instructor cried when she read it, asked if she could use it as an example on her classes. My dad cried when he read it and I let it rot away at my insides, I let it eat me up. I wondered what was so wrong with me that I could lie so blatantly and have everyone believe me.

Despite our relationship, I think my mother deserved it more. We’re the same, her and I. We don’t talk about feelings, we don’t cry. We suck it up and put on a clear face for everyone else. I’m so very lucky to have a partner now who doesn’t require me to mask.

My mom never had that and she still loves my father. So why does it feel so difficult for me to love him? He’s getting worse every year. Meaner and more difficult and harder for anyone to be around. The cycle continues, on and on.

I don’t think I love my dad like you love a father. I know my mom has been a mother to me, no matter our differences. I know she’s hid us from the cycle of abuse, done her best over the years. Despite any issue I’ve ever had with her, I know she’s my mom.

It feels a lot like mourning, admitting it.

[2012wannabe]

Cranberry Sauce

wc: 984

cw: grief/loss, mourning, dissociation, Abby misses her dad

Notes for my fanfiction

Abby stared at the can of cranberry sauce on the table that you had left there. The anniversary of her father’s death was always difficult so in hopes of cheering her up, you found her the sauce. At some point or another, she told you that having it was kind of her and her dad’s thing. Cutting slices of the gelatinous food and pretending it was Thanksgiving. Her dad always loved Thanksgiving, she said. After the outbreak even getting the cranberry sauce was extremely difficult much less other typical Thanksgiving foods so the holiday was just a remnant of the past but her dad had great joy in sharing it with her. Apparently, the holiday had a pretty rough bloody history but especially now the positive memories it provided were a lifeline. She missed him terribly and the darkness in her demeanor did nothing to hide it.

“Abby?” you called. There was a long silence before you called again.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” you yelled out, hearing her steps every so slightly gets louder. You knew she wasn't okay, she wasn't okay in the slightest but you didn't know how to say, ‘You’ve been awfully quiet and it's really concerning me’ without her giving a very Abby response of apologizing for making you worry. She appeared in the doorway, muttering an

“I’m fine”. You patted the space on the bed next to you and she begrudgingly sat down. She hated not having something to do, always needing to have herself and her body occupied in some way. Having the day off was bad enough but her body betraying her and her feeling absolutely exhausted despite just waking up ate at her. Crawling into bed and snaking an arm around you, she buried her head in the crook of your neck.

“I know you’re not, but it’s okay.” You whispered.

“Did you see what I left you on the table?” Her eyes watered and she cursed at herself.

“We can have it together later.” You said stroking her hair.

“I had a dream about him last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just wish I didn’t have to see him dead because every time I see him now he’s all bloody and stuff. Which is weird because sometimes even though we’re at the WLF I expect to see him around or I see one of our doctors from behind and think it’s him.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, staying quiet, not wanting to interrupt and have her stop talking. She sniffled before continuing,

“I just miss him so much you know.”

“I know baby, I know.” She cried into you, letting the tears fall while her body shook with her sobs. You wanted to say more but there is nothing to say. Nothing to do or say that will undo the pain she’s feeling, that will more importantly bring him back. So you kept her in your embrace and let her cry and shake until her cries were slowly stifled. Despite it all, the silence was kind of nice, there was peace in that you had her and she had you, and there nothing in that moment there was nothing that could separate you. Abby would never admit it but being alone was someone far scarier to her than any height could be. And having someone there during all the shitty moments made them just a little bit better.

“Did you eat when I was still sleeping?”

“No.” She said quietly hiccuping.

“It’s getting pretty late so what do you say we have pancakes and cranberry sauce? Your two special things.”

“You have pancakes?” She said, looking up at you with big watery eyes.

“I do. And I have syrup.”

“Thank you. Thank you so so much.”

“I’d do it every day for you.” You said, kissing her once on the top of her head, then her lips.

“C’mon let’s get up.” You both slowly detached from each other and Abby trailed after you walking to the kitchen. She sat down eyes blank with a thousand-mile stare gazing in your direction as you prepared breakfast.

Finally settling the plates down, she seemed a bit startled by the noise and grabbed your hand before taking a breath.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect, it really is. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me at all.” You ate in silence before Abby spoke again.

“Is it weird to say that I still feel 15? Sometimes I feel like it was just yesterday that the alarms were blaring and I found him. In my dreams that’s all I can see, just walking down the hallway of the hospital with the big red spray-painted symbol, Owen and Manny standing over him. My mind just goes back and forth.”

“It’s not weird at all. Grief is an indescribable, complicated thing.” Fading back into silence, you collected the dishes and placed them in the sink. The rest of the day followed a similar pattern with intermittent silence until Abby would re-emerge from her brain back into her body to talk about him. The day went and gone, neither of you doing much of anything until you both crawled back into bed at night.

Feeling Abby shift and seeing her face morph into an unreadable expression you asked,

“What’s up?”

“I never got dressed.”

“That’s fine. Neither did I.” She frowned and furrowed her eyebrows as if she was going to say something but decided against it. You curled back into each other molding your bodies together underneath your blankets.

“You know I love you right?” You asked.

“I do. I love you too.”

“And you’re going to be able to go on patrol tomorrow afternoon? If you need another day that’s perfectly fine.” You said rubbing small circles into her arms.

“I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Good night baby.”

“Good night.”

[bookishtheaterlover7]

WOO! Had to go through high or hell water, but a blessing in the form of the mysterious new friend 🎄 helped me get the info I need

Now... Let's drag this pretentious bitch through the mud again, shall we..?

For starters, let's admire the "bride"😜

Well, well... They actually made the Wicked Witch of the East (West is Elphaba, I will not drag her with this bitch) look good. Even 👸 said she actually liked the lipstick and wearing a good outfit, covering what everyone has already seen too much of, and choosing black, to mourn her lost Instagram followers? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

And what is with that position?! She also hates the little bow on the dress, it's indicative of Albitch's Lolita personality (in my words, AS IF THE BITCH NEEDED TO REMIND EVERYONE). And those cold black eyes 😆 What is with the bow below? Most people would have the bow at the waist! (I told her that Albitch doesn't have curves to accentuate 🙃)

👸 is being a savage today and I'm loving it!!!

Honestly, she's right, as always 😆 and the thing with Albitch's stupid ass position it kinda reminds me of Cinderella's step sisters 🤭

And she actually wears something other than crop tops?!😵 And really? A babydoll dress? Could you be anymore obvious, Albitch?!

And one last thing... FUCKING FIX YOUR POSITIONS, YOU WANNABE!!!

Onto the topic of Chris...

Their rings don't fucking match! What married couple doesn't have matching rings?! This isn't the 1800s where only the bride wears the ring. Both husband and wife, are supposed to have a ring. They might not wear it all the time, but they do have rings! But these two? You put their photos right next to each other, and it looks like someone told them to each buy a ring without knowing what the other even looked like 🤭☕

His is some form of gold. Still doesn't fit... And hers, are silver, dull and fucking loose!!!

Sidebar~

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by alba updates (@albaupdates)

Thank you 👸 for showing me this vid, I needed that laugh 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Albitch, do you seriously don't know what to do with your hands? With all your slutty posts, I thought you'd be an expert by now 🤭 I guess that's why you never show them in pictures you post...

And another thing. This goes to all of the people who thought she's hiding because she's pregnant...

DOES SHE LOOK REMOTELY PREGNANT TO YOU?! YOU'RE FUCKING DELULU!!!

And we're back to Chris...

Yeah those wedding rings are seriously not matching. And no matter how you spin it, there's absolutely zero reason for those two to not match. Unless neither knew what the other bought in which case...

THEY'RE EXPOSING THEMSELVES!!!!

Just like how Albitch appearing without Chris only confirms our suspicions, that he's in MA, with his family, DEFINITELY WITHOUT HIS LOVING NEW BRIDE 😁

Now, isn't that just couple goals... 🙄

I mean Dodger will actually have a happy Thanksgiving this year, because his Daddy would actually smell nice and not have his wicked Step-Mother

Oh, I forgot! 👸 rewatched Chris' NYCC panel, and at 10:14 of the video...

She told me, it's really hard to notice, and I didn't but after two tries I did too, that Chris mentions that he has to use treats to get Dodger to come near him, because, "sometimes stuff happens"...

I'm sorry, but WHAT STUFF HAPPENED THAT MAKES DODGER NOT WANT TO BE NEAR YOU, CHRISTOPHER?!

I know it sounds like a stretch, and probably a major conspiracy theory. But come on! Dodger is the least shy dog on the internet! He loves new friends, in dog and human form.

And he's a dog who, like his Dad, loves to show affection, and receive it. There's no way, Dodger would avoid people, unless, and my dog is like this, they've had a bad experience with that person, and they don't trust them. Even just the scent might have them stay away. 🤔🧐

TL;DR

🎄 is an angel sent from the heavens to have helped me. 👸 is SAVAGE today with the sick burns. Albitch looks decent, but her positions, and the fact that literally EVERYTHING but the ring shines is another Red Flag 🚩(we're about to run out of room for these flags). Chris and her have rings that don't fucking match. Dodger might be having a happy Thanksgiving because his wicked Step-Mother is as far from MA as she can be (Green card, what? She doesn't know her🤭)

Oh, and...

Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate it 😁🍗